


Peanut Butter Waffles

by jarynw02



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adoption, Atsumu just wanted to be a dad, Fluff-centric, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid Tendou Satori, Kid Ushijima Wakatoshi, M/M, Sakusa is the MVP of Dads, Side Pairing Kuroken, Silent Akaashi Keiji, Single Dad Miya Atsumu, Single Dad Sakusa Kiyoomi, Slightly Painful Fluff, Therapy, This sounds sad af but honestly its adorable lmfao, Traumatic Childhoods, kid Bokuto Koutarou, kid akaashi keiji, kids in therapy, side pairing iwaoi, triggering content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29050368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarynw02/pseuds/jarynw02
Summary: “Fine. This is my husband, Iwaizumi Hajime. Our son Ushijima is six, though, honestly, he could probably pass for eight on his bad days-”“Can you stick to what’s relevant?” Hajime snaps beside him, though the words seem less bitter and more fond. Atsumu forces down a raise of a brow at their weirdness.“Right, right,” Tooru says. “Ushi was passed around foster homes after being born a crack baby-”“Tooru!”“-but Iwa-chan and I adopted him two years ago and have been coming here for the last year or so. It’s helped with Ushi and Iwa-chan’s anger issues, for sure.”ORAtsumu adopts a mute, traumatized, four year old named Keiji and they find themselves making friends in child therapy with Sakusa Kiyoomi and his adopted son, Koutarou.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	Peanut Butter Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for myself.
> 
> Named for the song, [Peanut Butter Waffles](https://open.spotify.com/track/1qRabaD5y56JZzQSm4qB0n?si=z6It1_S5Rt6ll2T5jdHBmg)

Miya Atsumu is fidgeting. 

He knows he is, but the awareness only adds to the prickling anxiety he refuses to name thrumming through his limbs. The last dish from the sink is dry and carefully put away and now, with nothing to do with his hands, Atsumu half-stumbles through his bizarrely immaculate kitchen while trying not to chew on his nails. His eyes flit toward the empty hallway of his modest apartment, drawn to the presence in the rooms beyond. 

A chime rings out and he fights the sudden uncontrollable urge to smash his phone in a fight or flight reflex, but, luckily, he is not completely irrational.

At least not until he darts over to the couch where he’d thrown his phone and reconsiders his claim to sanity at the sight of his caller. 

The  _ last  _ person Atsumu wants to talk to right now. 

“‘Samu,” he answers anyway. “What’s up?”

Atsumu can feel his twin’s raised brow across the miles that separate them. “Hey, er, I was jus’ checkin’ on ya…” he trails off hesitantly despite his rather straightforward approach. “Today’s the day, right?”

After an extra breath to settle whatever is stirring in his chest, Atsumu responds with a hum, “Yep.”

“It’ll be okay, ya know that right?” Osamu continues, his voice still hovering in the blank space between subdued and intrusive. Atsumu starts tapping on the arm of the couch thoughtlessly, avoiding how tender this subject between them still is. 

“Sure, ‘Samu.”

“I mean it.” There’s a pause and Atsumu hears movement from the hallway, pleasantly distracting him from Osamu. “Ya’ve already met the guy, right? It’s just the first official day.”

Small fingers curl around the frame of the entryway before a smooth mop of dark hair peeks out over the edge. Deep, steel blue eyes blink at Atsumu and all thoughts of his twin’s initial disapproval vanishes. 

Atsumu jerks upright on the couch and clips out, “Ya, ya, it’ll be fine. I’ll talk to ya later, kay?”

He doesn’t wait for Osamu’s response before he ends the call and directs all of his attention to the four year old still mustering the courage to fully step into the living room. 

“Need somethin’, Keiji?” 

The boy shakes his head slowly, but tiptoes further into view, still stepped back into the shadow of the hall just out of reach of the glow from his room on the hardwood. 

Atsumu summons a smile for him, his anxiety quickly shoved onto the backburner. “Do ya remember that we’re meetin’ Suga-san again today?”

Keiji nods. 

“It’s about time to go. Need help with yer shoes?” 

There’s a delay this time, but, again, Keiji nods. 

Atsumu doesn’t miss a beat. He pops up from his seat, retrieving Keiji’s newest pair of adorably small sneakers from the genkan before planting himself on the single step that leads down to the front door. He looks over his shoulder and pats the spot beside him. 

Keiji moves calmly and carefully, as he usually does, but doesn’t hesitate in coming to sit beside him and Atsumu counts it as a win. It’s been four months since Keiji joined his home and though things have been progressing almost painfully slowly, they  _ are  _ progressing.

Honestly, Atsumu’s really proud of the kid. 

Once the last bow of laces is tied, Atsumu pats the top of both feet and grins down at Keiji, only faltering when he spots the boy’s frown. 

“What is it?”

Keiji pauses, still frowning, before twisting around to point back toward his room. It only takes Atsumu a small second to guess what he means. 

“Oh, we can’t forget Kichiro, hmm?”

Keiji looks up at him with wide eyes, his frown lifting a bit, and shakes his head firmly. Atsumu takes the hint and fetches the stuffed owl left behind on Keiji’s neatly made bed. The sight strikes him for a moment. What kind of four year old takes the time to make their bed? Atsumu can’t even remember the last time he made his own, or at least did more than toss the blankets back in some semblance of order. 

But he simply sighs, letting the thought drift away to join the horde of other worries he’s accumulated all filed away in his mind under a tab labelled  _ Akaashi Keiji _ . 

When he returns, Keiji promptly reaches up for his stuffed animal and tucks it under his arm. The kid waits patiently for Atsumu to slip on his own shoes, though he’s much more aggressive and careless with forcing his on than he was in methodically placing Keiji in his. 

Keys in hand, Atsumu reaches down for Keiji before opening the door. 

Keiji stares at the gesture long and hard, as he has every time they’ve been outside the apartment since Atsumu first picked him up from child services all those months ago. In the end, he lifts the hand not keeping Kichiro in place and latches onto Atsumu so they can leave. 

Atsumu fights the swelling pain in his chest all the way down to the car and when Keiji lets him lift him up into his car seat, Atsumu tells himself that they’ll both be alright. 

  
  


Archway Support is meticulously disguised as a preschool from the outside. There are brightly colored paintings of children and cartoon characters along one long wall that faces a fenced in playground and the sign overhead sports a rainbow around the center’s name. They’re far from the first car in the parking lot, but the location is small and the director assured Atsumu last week that all the class sizes were barely a handful. 

Still, Atsumu takes an extra moment to grip the steering wheel a little tighter and breathe through his clenched teeth. When it’s been long enough that Atsumu imagines Keiji asking him what the hell he’s doing only for Atsumu to  _ then  _ remind himself that Keiji doesn’t speak and therefore won’t tell him if he’s uncomfortable waiting so long in the parked car-- Atsumu jumps out. He unfastens Keiji from his car seat and sets him on the asphalt neatly, offering his hand to the four year old who meekly accepts it. 

Kichiro in tow, they head inside. 

The waiting room reminds Atsumu of a doctor’s office with its chairs that line the walls and a central desk housing a single clipboard for check in. If Keiji looks around at the scattered brightly colored toys, Atsumu doesn’t see it. He’s signing them in when he hears a mercifully familiar voice from aside. 

“Miya-san and Keiji-kun!” Suga says as an introduction, a cheerful smile comfortable on his face as he approaches them. “Good to see you both again.”

“Likewise,” Atsumu answers, dipping his chin as he finishes with the clipboard. Keiji stays by his side, but doesn’t quite hide behind his pant leg like he’s seen other kids do. 

Suga maintains his smile for Keiji as he crouches down close, but still a safe distance away. “Are you ready to make some new friends, Keiji-kun?”

Keiji doesn’t answer him. He simply stares at Suga the same way that he used to stare at Atsumu those first few weeks after Atsumu brought him home. 

He decides to try and help the counselor. “Friends can be pretty cool, Keiji. Maybe Kichiro can make some friends too, ne?” 

Those big, steel eyes turn up to Atsumu and blink before looking down at the owl plushie in his hands. Finally, Keiji looks back up at Atsumu and nods. 

The relief that pours through Atsumu could end world hunger. He smiles down at the boy, resisting the urge to run a hand over his head, knowing full-well how Keiji responds to unprepared touches. 

“Perfect!” he says, tousling his own hair to let out some of his fidgety energy. “And I’ve got a class too, ya know. Maybe we’ll all make friends?”

Suga takes the opportunity to interject, still crouched in front of Keiji. “Sounds great to me! Ready to go, Keiji-kun?”

Keiji starts to frown at Suga, but turns back to Atsumu with a strangely expectant look on his face that twists the muddy thing in Atsumu’s chest he hasn’t been able to get rid of since he first heard about Keiji’s case. 

Atsumu smiles at him. “It’s alright. Go meet yer friends with Suga-san. I’ll be here when yer done.”

It takes another moment of tension between the three of them, but Keiji relents and follows Suga back toward a door Atsumu knows leads to a large playroom. Still, Atsumu clearly notes the way Keiji refuses to hold Suga’s hand as they walk. 

He sighs and turns toward the door on the opposite side of the empty waiting room. With all of his stressing over Keiji’s first social experience while in Atsumu’s care, he hadn’t really let himself worry about his own part in all this. No matter how much he’s accepted that counseling, for the both of them, will be extremely beneficial in the long run, it still feels a bit like he’s failed. 

Like he’s proving Osamu right— he wasn’t ready to adopt and  _ definitely  _ wasn’t ready for a child with needs like Keiji’s. 

The clinical white door leading back toward the meeting rooms is heavy when Atsumu pushes it open with tired hands. A narrow carpeted path leads him back to the session that’s already starting, if the muffled sounds of conversation are anything to go by, and Atsumu is infinitely glad they gave him a tour when he and Keiji came by to start the process last week. 

At first glance, the room is chaotic, but it’s less because of disorder and more because of the AA style setup. There’s a circle of seats at the center that isn’t made of metal folding chairs, rather an odd mixture of a plush bench, a stiff club chair, and even a wheeled office chair. The small group talking amongst themselves doesn’t stop until one man with cropped brown hair notices him lingering in the entryway. 

“Ah, hello there,” he says, smiling and gripping a folder. “You must be Miya-san?”

Atsumu nods, stepping fully into the room and letting the weight of the strangers’ eyes fall on him until he finds an open barstool in their circle. “Miya Atsumu.”

The brunet’s smile broadens welcomingly. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll be your moderator, Sawamura Daichi, but, please, call me Daichi.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles back, shifting on the awkward seat. 

“Typically, we use this time for free dialogue until a topic of interest comes up,” Daichi explains. “Then we’ll dig deeper into that and how it affects everyone in the group.” There’s a pause and Daichi expands his attention to the entire circle. “Well, let’s do some introductions.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues and Atsumu is pointedly trying not to scope out the other parents and guardians in the circle. Eventually, someone clears their throat. 

“Hello!” a gaudy voice chirps and Atsumu looks to the slender man across from him with the sideswept hair. “I’m Iwaizumi Tooru and  _ this  _ is my Iwa-chan~”

“ _ Tooru _ .”

Tooru waves a flippant hand in front of the burly man beside him and continues, “Fine. This is my husband, Iwaizumi Hajime. Our son Ushijima is six, though, honestly, he could probably pass for eight on his bad days-”

“Can you stick to what’s relevant?” Hajime snaps beside him, though the words seem less bitter and more fond. Atsumu forces down a raise of a brow at their weirdness. 

“Right, right,” Tooru says. “Ushi was passed around foster homes after being born a crack baby-”

“ _ Tooru! _ ” 

“-but Iwa-chan and I adopted him two years ago and have been coming here for the last year or so. It’s helped with Ushi  _ and  _ Iwa-chan’s anger issues, for sure.”

Daichi nods sagely to Tooru who beams at the sliver of approval and Atsumu wants to scoff at the pompous guy. What kind of person just casually refers to their kid as a crack baby? But, much to Atsumu’s relief, Hajimehasn’t seemed to let the slight go and is still staring daggers at his husband. Atsumu decides to instantly favor that guy. 

When Daichi turns away from the couple on his right, he gestures for the man on his other side to start. Atsumu shifts on his stool to look down at the small blond beside him. 

“Hi,” he says, clipped. “I’m Kuroo Kenma. Satori showed some early signs of autism a while back and doesn’t make friends at daycare, so Tetsu thought something like this could help. We’ve been coming for about eight months.” 

Atsumu blinks down at the man curiously, but he stops himself from analyzing his blond dye job not unlike his own or the hunch of the smaller man’s shoulders. Instead, he finds himself grateful for the awkwardness of his introduction. It makes him feel like he’s not the only one nervous to be here. 

“Thank you, Kenma-san,” Daichi says cordially. “Sakusa-san?” 

For the first time, Atsumu shifts his attention to the man to his left, uncomfortably realizing he’s nearly as tall as Atsumu without sitting in a barstool. He’s handsome, his dark curls shadowing the strip of his face uncovered by the mask over his mouth, but Tooru is objectively handsome too, so Atsumu ignores the passing thought. 

He’s not here to notice the other parents’ infinitely long eyelashes.

“My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Despite the black, medical mask, the man’s voice is clear. “My son’s name is Koutarou and we’ve been coming to see Daichi and Suga for five months.” 

“A little about Kou-chan?” Daichi prods with a knowing grin. 

Sakusa’s eyes narrow a bit, but he answers, “Koutarou has attention and attachment issues and I’m grateful for all the help the center has given us.”

Daichi chuckles for a breath and Atsumu can’t help but wonder what’s so funny about Koutarou’s attention and attachment issues. This whole group therapy thing is turning out even darker than he’d expected it to be… though in a humorous way. 

Which is decidedly worse. 

“Alright, time for the newbie,” Daichi announces and all eyes turn to Atsumu. 

He swallows, noticeably, and somehow he  _ knows  _ Tooru is judging him for it. 

“Well, I’m Miya Atsumu. I took in Keiji four months-”

Tooru gasps suddenly and Atsumu tries not to wince or leap across the circle and choke him. 

“Wait! Wait- Keiji, as in,  _ Akaashi  _ Keiji?” 

Hajime elbows his husband in the side and Tooru whines, clutching at his ribs like they’re broken. “You don’t have to answer that,” Hajimesays. 

“It’s… it’s alright,” Atsumu answers. “Ya, Keiji is the little boy who lived through that home invasion last year.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The words are so unexpected Atsumu double takes at the man beside him. Sakusa’s dark eyes are sharp as they peer up at him for only a moment before returning to blandly staring off in Daichi’s direction. 

“Ya,” he hears himself say to no one in particular. “It’s been… hard.”

Hajime nods his head beside Daichi who says softly, “We can’t even imagine.”

“He, uh, he doesn’t talk.” Even as the words spill out of him, Atsumu regrets saying them. He doesn’t want to tell anyone Keiji’s business--  _ their  _ business. But… that’s what he’s here for, right? “I’ve never heard him speak, but, we’ve worked out a pretty good nonverbal system. I don’ know if I should try teachin’ him sign language or somethin’…” 

“Satori didn’t speak,” Kenma practically whispers, but they all quiet down enough to listen. “Not for a while after we took him in. I think he just needed to build up some trust. It was easier with me, since I’m, well, quiet, I guess. It took longer for him to open up to Tetsurou, but they get along really well now.”

Atsumu takes a moment to let the words settle over him before he nods to the blond beside him, just once. “Thank you. That’s helpful.”

“Ushijima used to punch Tooru everytime he got close to him.”

“ _ Iwa-chan! _ ” 

“Some days I think he still looks at us like we might leave him,” Hajimecontinues and Tooru softens. “But I take him with me to the boxing gym a couple times a week and he seems to love it. I think it helps. And everyone there loves him and tries to teach him tips and shit, but Ushi only seems interested in other pissed off people.” 

“Cute,” Daichi hums and Atsumu gapes at their leader. 

“Kou has never had a problem talking,” Sakusa says suddenly. Tooru chokes on a laugh that distracts Atsumu, but he turns back to Sakusa who’s pointedly looking at the wall behind Daichi. “But he used to lie to me almost compulsively. He still does while storytelling at times. It’s… painful to see him fight so hard to be worth someone’s attention.” 

“Does it ever get easier?” Atsumu asks before he can stop himself. 

Sakusa drags his eyes over to Atsumu and lets a silence stretch between them before he says, “One night, Kou woke up while I was grading papers. He came into the living room and didn’t say a word. He just climbed onto the couch next to me and went back to sleep. We never talked about it, but he still does it. Once a week, probably.” 

Atsumu lets his eyes flicker over the sharp cheekbones barely visible beneath Sakusa’s mask.

“So, to answer your question, yes. It gets easier.”

  
  
  


The conversation mercifully turns toward Satori’s progress in kindergarten. Apparently the poor kid also has a reading disability, but at least the school has been accommodating so far. All three of the other children in the group are in primary already, but Keiji is only old enough for preschool if Atsumu would ever put him in it. 

The respite from work to be home with Keiji has been fulfilling, though Atsumu has kept up with his largest clients via video calls and continues to send their weekly plans in an email every Sunday evening. Eventually, he’ll have to start up again, but some part of Atsumu had hoped he might be able to get away with bringing Keiji along with him. After hearing the stories of the other kids from group, he considers the idea that Keiji will likely need more socialization than just tagging along with Atsumu to visit his clients. 

That’s a battle for another day, though. 

The session concludes with an awkwardly tense invitation to a playdate from Tooru and Hajime since, apparently, Ushijima and Satori get along well. Keiji and Koutarou seem to be invited out of sheer politeness, but Atsumu accepts nevertheless. He doesn’t know if Keiji had friends before he ended up in Atsumu’s care, but he hopes that the effort will be worth it. 

They file out mostly silently with only Hajime lingering to talk with Daichi in a comfortable way that makes Atsumu think they’re friends outside of class, but surely there are rules about that or something. Kenma walks just behind Atsumu as he tries not to sprint through the facility to see how Keiji managed without him, but when the adults all surface into the lobby the kids are already there, spread around the room playing with toys. 

Atsumu’s eyes lock onto Keiji in an instant and he stops in his tracks. 

The little blue eyed boy is not alone. He’s kneeling, sharing his space with another kid from the group as they lean toward each other, pointing out things in the open coloring book on the table before them. Atsumu doesn’t hear Keiji’s voice or see him open his mouth, but he’s still  _ communicating _ . He’s pointing and looking at the other kid for a response which is eagerly given with shouts of glee and vigorous head nods. 

A shock of white hair flickers as the rest of the adults step further into the room and the boy sitting directly beside Keiji leaps to his feet. 

“Papa!” the kid shouts before he  _ grabs Keiji by the wrist and tugs him up _ .

What the actual fuck?

The kid is positively beaming as he drags a wide eyed Keiji across the room, coming to stop right in front of Atsumu and he has to blink away the urge to tell the kid he’s not his dad. But a figure takes a step closer beside him and for the first time, Atsumu notices Sakusa at full height standing within arm’s reach. 

The man is stoic, but still raises a single amused brow. “Kou-chan,” Sakusa says cooly. “Did you have a good session?”

Koutarou literally  _ shines _ . “Try the best session  _ ever!  _ Look, look!” he shouts, completely ignorant of any semblance of an inside voice. He tugs Atsumu’s vacantly blinking charge closer to him. “This is Keiji! We’re best friends now!”

Sakusa nods sagely, eyes glued to his son for a moment longer before flickering over to the boy beside him. “Is that true, Keiji-kun?”

Keiji looks to Atsumu and he has no idea what reaction to give the boy, so he dips his chin, hoping Keiji will understand that it’s okay to be truthful. 

Keiji looks back at Sakusa and nods slowly. 

Atsumu almost faints. Honestly. It had taken nearly two  _ weeks  _ for Atsumu to earn a smidgen of Keiji’s trust and not only was it the most difficult two weeks of Atsumu’s life, but it was painful as hell. The year before he’d been spending that time traveling with clients from champagne pop to champagne pop, relishing in the luxury cars and decadent homes always willing to let him in alongside a dozen or so of the best male and female models available. His life completely flipped, turned upside down, for a little boy named Akaashi Keiji and the deep seeded dream Atsumu had always buried of being  _ more _ \-- of being a father. 

It had taken two weeks for Keiji to be willing to stay in the same room as Atsumu, to hold Atsumu’s hand in dangerous situations when Atsumu really needed to keep the boy close. So, looking down at this goofy little kid with messy black and white hair that hung into his searing golden eyes, Atsumu can’t help the little tinge of jealousy that bites at his neck, tightening his throat. 

But, more than that, Atsumu is so,  _ so  _ proud.

Keiji’s eyes flicker back to his and Atsumu smiles at him.

Koutarou doesn’t notice the charged atmosphere between Atsumu and Keiji. He drops his new friend’s wrist to step closer to his father and Sakusa obliges the boy’s request before his hands are even completely raised. Keiji blinks at the exchange, studying the way Sakusa fits Koutarou to his hip and Atsumu braces himself for incoming tears at his breakable charge being torn away from his new, and only, friend. 

Instead, Keiji moves toward Atsumu and grabs hold of his track pants. 

Atsumu doesn’t fight the ungodly sound that chokes out of him, but he does force his face to remain as bright as possible. He opens his arms slowly, extending them to Keiji to see if he really…

Keiji raises both hands, waiting for Atsumu to pick him up. 

He does. 

Then he promptly stares at one of the gaudy posters for Adhd on a far wall to blink away the tears quickly brimming in his eyes. 

“Papa, papa!” Koutarou chants, bouncing in Sakusa’s arms as they start to make for the door to leave. “Can Keiji come over? Oh, oh! Can Keiji spend the night! Yeah yeah! Please!” 

Sakusa runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, exposing his forehead and wide, excited eyes. “Hmm, we’ll have to ask Keiji-kun’s father.”

Atsumu lets the first trail of tears spill over onto his cheek at the mention of Atsumu actually being Keiji’s father. That’s the hope, sure, but things can always change and he doesn’t ever want to push Keiji toward anything he’s uncomfortable with. 

Keiji’s hand tightens on a loose portion of his shirt beneath his collar and Atsumu sucks down his crying, swiping away at his face before he looks at the blue eyed boy on his hip. “What’d ya think, Keij? Ya wanna play with Kou-chan outside of class sometime?” 

The little boy takes a quiet breath and looks over to where Koutarou is now heavily leaning on Sakusa’s chest and wiggling with a playful grin that exhausts Atsumu on sight. Then Keiji leans into Atsumu, resting his head on his shoulder and nods into his neck. 

Atsumu silently thanks whatever gods there are in the universe for Koutarou. 

“Sounds good to us then, yeah?” he says, swallowing down the insurmountable emotion that will likely consume him the moment they get home. He puts on his best photo-worthy grin to help with his dwindling confidence, but one look at Sakusa and Atsumu twitches. 

Sakusa tilts his head to one side, watching Atsumu carefully before he says, “Great.” Then he mystically pulls out his cell phone while keeping a semi-flailing Koutarou glued to his side and seated on one arm. Atsumu is too lost in the feeling of Keiji’s small head resting against his chest to pay too much attention to what the other man says after that, but he does manage to catch, “Can I have your phone number?” 

“Ooh, is it really the time for such a thing?” Atsumu shifts his weight, holding Keiji in place. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, yer pre--”

“Are you a moron?” 

Atsumu blinks, startled. “Well, that’s kinda mean-”

“Just give me your phone number,” Sakusa grumbles now, irritated. “For the boys. Sleepovers and whatnot, remember? Or do you make it a habit to confuse casual conversation with shameful flirting?” 

“Hey now!” Atsumu perks up, mindful to keep his voice at a somewhat reasonable level while the boys are close. “My flirting is  _ impeccable _ , actually. It’s not my fault if yer the one who comes off flirtatious, ya know?”

“Just give me your number.”

“Well, that’s not very--”

“ _ Miya _ .”

Atsumu clicks his teeth, but softens when Keiji nestles a little further into his chest. Even Koutarou has quieted down, resting his chin on the top of his father’s shoulder to look at the Iwaizumi’s who are still lingering behind talking to Daichi, a tall boy standing straight at attention beside Hajime. 

“Fine,” Atsumu relents, “whatever.”

When the number is given, Sakusa sends Atsumu a text with his full name written out so that Atsumu can remember who it is if things with Keiji distract him for a while once he gets home. 

Atsumu smiles at the thoughtfulness from the otherwise grouchy man as they finally leave the center, taking to the parking lot to head toward their respective cars. 

“Aww, thanks Omi-Omi,” Atsumu calls out with a wave. 

Sakusa frowns, turning to make sure Atsumu sees it even as they walk in opposite directions. “Don’t call me that.”

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu tries as he opens the back door to set Keiji in his car seat.

Sakusa peeks over the front of his own midsize suv, still frowning-- or assumably frowning, what with the mask in place, but Atsumu is  _ pretty  _ sure that he’s frowning just based on his eyes. “No,” he says, clipped.

“ _ Omi~ _ ” he shouts through the parking lot after he buckles Keiji and slips into the front seat. 

Sakusa pulls his car up beside Atsumu’s and rolls the window down.

“ _ No. _ ” 

  
  
  


When they get home, Atsumu retrieves Keiji from his carseat the same way he always does, but when they move to head into the towering apartment complex, Keiji is the one to reach for Atsumu’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pls be my friend on Twitter: [@jarynw02](https://twitter.com/jarynw02)


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